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Last Friday I got up early before work and wrote a response to Piper’s suggestion that Christianity has “a masculine feel.”

I worked on it during breakfast and while I sipped my first cup of coffee, but when it came time to hit “Post” I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Instead I shared this interview about the power of Story.

The same thing happened a few days before that, this time while I was drafting my thoughts on the controversy around Mars Hill, Driscoll’s marriage book, and some of his recent interviews. Again, I got part way through preparing my post and just stopped, unable to continue. Eventually I ended up posting something different that day as well.

Part of my hesitation is simply exhaustion. It is incredibly emotionally draining to sustain the continual outrage that sometimes feels like the only proper response to the damaging things I see being done in the name of the faith.

But it’s more than that; I’m tired in a different way, tired of defining myself by what I’m against.

There is a place for that I think, for a time. As I started to rethink the assumptions I had about of my faith – to question the theology, reconsider the social implications, reimagine what it might mean to take God and his Word seriously – it was unavoidable and perhaps even necessary that at the beginning of that journey I would find my identity in what I was against.

For a time that may be a necessary part of our stories, we have no alternative narrative yet, only the knowledge of what we have chosen to reject.

The danger is that it’s easy to get stuck there. It’s easy to go through life defining ourselves by what, or who, we are not.

I know it’s easy for me.

But I also know it isn’t healthy, not forever.

Eventually we must break away from the pull of finding our identity in conflict and opposition, and be for something.

There will be things that need to be spoken out against from time to time, but perhaps it is more important, and more effective, if we spend our energy creating something beautiful, powerful, and transformative.

We must start to tell another story, to articulate an alternative narrative that is shaped by what it affirms, what it creates, more than what it denies or destroys.

[I expanded this post this afternoon for Deeper Story - you can find it here]

Recently a friend of mine, Louis at Baker Book House, was the subject of a post by Ken Ham.

Since Louis has been discussing his journey of making peace with evolution on his Church Connection blog, as you might expect Ham’s post was… well lets says “less than complementary.”

And by “less than complementary” I mean Louis was accused of apostatizing from his faith, compromising clear biblical truths, and promoting heresy – so nothing dramatic then.

Here are a couple excerpts.

“You probably have already read the blog of Louis, who reviews books for Baker Book House (including The Evolution of Adam by Peter Enns), but I found it interesting to see the steps to apostasy eroding at this man’s (Louis) faith… Although I hate to see this happening before my eyes, I am reminded of the original sin where Satan tempted Eve with the heretical and evolutionary** ideas of becoming like God and not trusting the words of God completely.  We are still falling for these “lies” today.”

“We can clearly see the seeds of doubt leading to unbelief operating in this employee at a Christian book publisher as the influence of compromising with evolution and millions of years takes its toll. We already see the sad result of compromise with a once theologically conservative Christian book publisher now publishing a heretical book like that of Peter Enns.”

This sort of personal attack is a perfect example of why I’m tired of how evangelicals continue to listen to Ham and AIG. There are certainly people I know personally who hold a YEC position graciously and for admirable reasons, but tolerating such vitriolic nonsense is doing nothing to further the Church’s mission or unity..

When I read posts like this I can’t help thinking that for Ham and AIG it’s no longer about debating the science, and its not really even about biblical faithfulness anymore, even if it perhaps began that way.

Now it has become about defending one specific  theory about what the bible must be, and militantly protecting the identity, security, power, fame, and yes, money, that come along with promoting that theory by attacking anyone who disagrees.

Louis is anything but apostate or unorthodox, his faith in Christ and passion for the Bible is clear to everyone who knows him. And when someone lowers themselves to disgraceful personal attacks on a man like that, I think it says far more about the fear, and anger, and strong-arm tactics of the person making the attack than any problem with Louis’ journey.

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**[The serpent tempting Eve to believe in an “evolutionary” idea - “And lo the serpent spoke unto Eve and said ‘thou art descended from millions of years of a biological process called evolution’ and Eve, deceived by the serpent, began to share this loathsome error with Adam under the guise of ‘teaching the controversy,’ and they both became atheists.” That’s in there, right?]

Happy 2012 everyone! Hope we are all off to a good start before the Mayans take their long awaited revenge.

I’d make all the obligatory the-holidays-were-crazy-and-I’m-in-the-middle-of-quite-a-lot-of-changes-so-sorry-I’ve-been-“off-the-grid”-as-it-were remarks, but that’s rather dull isn’t it?

So, on to the present.

Next week I am participating in the Jesus Have I Loved, but Paul? blog tour. I’d encourage you to check out the homepage for the tour, where you can find an excellent list of reviewers who will be weighing in on Daniel Kirk’s book over the next two weeks.

Also on the horizon, posts on a handful of books I’m reading (including Enns’ book on Adam and Evolution), a series on faith/theology and beer, some scattered thoughts on current events in Evangelicalism, one too many Doctor Who references, and a number of reflections on my own faith journey.

On an unrelated note, if anyone happens to know where I could get a used Harris Tweed jacket for a reasonable price let me know. I like Tweed now. Tweed is cool.

My first post of 2012 is up at Deeper Story today, stop by and check it out!

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“Why do we cry when we’re happy?

You know, truly, stunningly, beautifully, happy. So happy that it’s almost too much to endure.

This year’s Doctor Who Christmas special spoke about happy crying, and sure enough by the end of it I was a complete mess. I admit it; I’m a sap for a happy ending…

Perhaps the value of such things could never be properly conveyed by anything but ‘once upon a time.’”

Let’s be honest, the blogosphere has more authority issues than a Jay-Z album.

And that’s not all bad, there is something to be said for the radically democratic project that is blogging. Everyone gets a chance to have their voice heard; everyone has a seat at the table.

That’s brilliant, it’s something we should fight to preserve, and it’s why some of us got into blogging in the first place.

But it also can lead to a very skewed idea of what “authority” is all about.

In the blogosphere everyone is an expert, or at least they play one online. The woman who is doing graduate level work in New Testament studies and the guy who read a few posts on the New Perspective on Paul one afternoon end up being seen as equally valid sources of authority.

It’s “Fake it till you make it” writ large.

It doesn’t matter if you’re actually an expert in a given area, what matters is if people perceive you as one. If they do, the fact that other people are dramatically more qualified to write about a given issue is irrelevant, you become the go-to source on that latest controversial book or that divisive theological issue.

After all, in the blogosphere “truth” and “authority” are often simply a product of popularity, influence, and – when we get right down to it – statistics. If you have more traffic, more relevance, more big names linking to your posts, more comments when you ask for feedback, then the masses have spoken and you are now the voice we should be listening to.

Now I’m not implying that only the experts should have a seat at the table, or that unless you have an advanced degree you’re not worth listening to. I’m saying that blogging tends to distort our idea of authority, and as a result we place too little value on those who have done the hard work of devoting themselves to the study of particular subjectsand too much value on traffic, links, and a good design.

Some of my favorite blogs are written by people who are not “experts” in a traditional academic sense – but I take them seriously because I know they do the hard work of studying a subject thoroughly before weighing in on it. This isn’t a cry to move towards some sort of priesthood of the ivory tower, simply a reminder that in a medium so driven by image and stats, we can quickly lose sight of the fact that being well informed, being an “authority,” is not a factor of how many comments there were on your last post.

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[This is the final post in my Imperialism of the Blogosphere series, you can catch up with post 12, and 3]

November featured a series of brilliant guest posts from the NWF community, while I attended ETS/SBL in San Francisco. I’d highly recommend checking them out if you haven’t already. Also I spent quite a bit of time thinking about the way we do theology and blogging, which inspired this post from early in the month.
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Our Generation’s Great Brand Face-offs

Coke vs. Pepsi 

Apple vs. Microsoft

New York Times vs. Washington Post

and Emergent vs. Neo-Reformed…?

Have you ever noticed that the way we talk about theology often sounds more like a Ford vs. Chevy debate than a deep discussion about the crucified-and-resurrected Lord of the world?

I think that is, in part, because we tend to define ourselves by our theological labels in much the same way as we define ourselves as being Mac users, or Starbucks coffee drinkers.

Such labels give us an identity and a community of sorts.

Those in the in-group enter into a way of life that makes them easily recognizable as a Mac person or Nike fan, and we defend these labels passionately while looking down on the uninitiated.

But in truth they only transform us on a superficial level.

Ultimately it has more to do with shaping a certain sort of identity for ourselves, using brands to create a persona of the person we would like to be seen as, than it does our being actually transformed by these brands.

Theology is not always like that, but it can be, and often is.

So we take on labels like emergent, or Reformed, or missional, because they make us look and feel daring, or non-conformist, or safe and grounded. We buy the books, and wear the cloths, and go to the conferences, and match all the little mannerisms of this new community of peers.

And it isn’t like people don’t realize this happens. There are whole industries waiting to cater to the every whim of our theological movements. From the Creation Museum, to publishers catering to a specific stream of theology, to magazines and conferences – there is money to be made when people are trying to shape their identity around a brand.

This isn’t a call to abandon theology. Think of it more as a reminder that even if we do lean towards emergent, or missional, or whatever other theological stream, the brand isn’t the point.

Theology isn’t an end to itself, it’s not a brand to shape our identity with. The proper end of theology is to point to the saving work of Christ. 

And when it becomes less than that we may as well be debating Mac vs. PC. One might be better [and by one, I mean Mac] but in the end does it really matter?

I grew up as a biblicist, raised in conservative Baptist and non-denominational congregations and living in a city where you can pass eight churches in about a mile and a half.

Eventually, I started noticing some rather glaring deficiencies in the things I had been taught, deficiencies which in retrospect had as much to do with a biblicist view of Scripture as it did the specifics of the theology.

Ironically, my response was to push back with even more biblicism.

But for this story to make sense I have to start a few years earlier.
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Part one of this story begins in high school, that time of life which can seem to define every aspect of who you are at the time, and later on – when you hardly recognize the person you were in those years – you are just happy you survived.

I did well enough in school, but Bible class was a particular highlight for me.

I rocked at Bible class.

Growing up in the church and having been home-schooled for a long time probably helped.

Word of advice, in a Bible class don’t mess with the kid who went through all the memorization books twice in a single year of AWANA, and had explicitly Christian textbooks for every class growing up, even math – because that kid will be an arrogant prick and show you exactly why you have no idea what the Bible says on any given topic.

Yeah, that kid was me.
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Fast forward to my sophomore year of college. A close friend of mine was leaving for Moody Bible College, and he and I were having many deep discussions about all things biblical and theological.

In the process I began to realize that the more I studied the theology I had long taken for granted, the more it seemed to crumble under the inspection.

So, this young biblicist made what was possibly the ultimate biblicist move – I started devoting my free time to studying the Bible on its own to find out “what it really meant” without preconceptions, without Church traditions or denominational distinctives, without bias.

Of course such a task is impossible, and might not be desirable even if it could be done, but I was determined.

Eventually I did pick up a one volume commentary and a Bible handbook, because I at least had enough sense to realize there were details about ancient culture that I could miss. And over the next six to eight months I read through the entire Bible, trying to determine its true unified testimony about every theological question I naturally assumed it must be prepared to answer.

By the end of my study I realized that many of the things I had been taught didn’t really add up when you took the advice of every church I had attended and “just read the Bible.”

But I also realized that there was too much data to process on my own, too many perspectives, and too many cultural differences between where I sat and the ancient readers.

What I needed I thought was a system, a better system than I had been given, to make sense of it all. So I transferred to Bible College.

But that is part two of my story.

[You can read part 2 here]

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